The Steel of the Wicked Heart (The Fae Spark Trilogy #2)

Chapter 1

Kai

Igritted my teeth and swung open the heavy wooden doors to the castle with a pulse of magic that snapped down my spine like lightning.

Hannah of Tennessee was a menace.

A wretched, golden-haired, hazel-eyed temptation who had no business existing in my thoughts… let alone being unattended in my chambers.

Before I’d been trapped in Silver City for days of meetings, she had stolen every last one of my undergarments and, in their place, left her own—turquoise, delicate, unmistakably hers. She hadn’t even attempted subtlety. No attempt to hide the insult. No attempt to pretend innocence.

Just… a challenge.

What had been the point? To haunt me? To remind me that she was furious with me? To ensure I thought of her?

The vicious little minx had achieved all three.

The faint scent clinging to the fabric and the shock of bright turquoise against the dark wool of my traveling cloak when I’d finally discovered them…

My blood had burned hot, and not entirely from anger. Every mile of the journey home, I’d been all too aware of them tucked among my belongings.

As if that torment hadn’t been enough, Thea had made her disapproval known as well, by using her place as head of Dusk Court castle household maintenance to steal her traditional item from me.

This time it had been my silver owl quill, and in its place she’d left a speckled turkey quill with a split nub.

That was the sort of thing she had done since we were children, but this time, I knew she'd done it because of Hannah.

My cursed fated mate.

The woman I couldn’t afford to want.

I stormed past the guards and through the main hall, my boots cracking against stone with deliberate force, each step echoing in the torch-lit corridor.

The castle had settled into its late-night quiet.

Most of the staff had retired, leaving only the rotating watch of guards posted along the walls and corridors.

"Your Majesty!" One of them straightened and moved his hand to his chest in salute. “Do you require—”

"No." The word came out rough, edged with the temper brewing inside me.

I didn’t slow until I reached the side door leading to the servant stairwell. I shoved it open and took the steps two at a time, my dark cloak billowing behind me like a shadow.

Hannah would face me tonight. In person.

My feet moved faster at the thought, anger and something far more dangerous coiling within me. The stone walls of the stairwell pressed close as I rounded the turns. Torchlight flickered in iron sconces, casting dancing shadows that stretched and contracted with every gust of air.

My jaw tightened with each step.

The nerve of that woman. The audacity.

She’d known exactly what she was doing when she’d slipped those delicate scraps of fabric into my belongings. Known I would find them. Known I would think of her.

Known I would imagine—

No.

My spine locked ramrod straight as I crushed the thought before it could take shape.

I refused to give her the satisfaction of lingering in my mind any longer than necessary.

Lorn leaf now coursed through my system, steadying my thoughts and dulling the sharper edge of those carnal impulses.

It left clarity… and a simmering, unrelenting frustration.

I didn’t want to see her again. Distance from Hannah was a blessing. My chest ached uncomfortably, but I brushed that aside and focused on the cause of my discomfort.

Her stunt could not stand.

Which meant I had to see her. Immediately.

I reached the landing leading to the bedrooms and turned down the corridor. Thick rugs swallowed the sound of my steps, and the magical luminary orbs cast a soft glow across tapestries depicting the rise and trials of the Dusk Court. My chambers waited at the far end, heavy doors shut tight.

Yet my gaze didn’t linger there. It moved to the guest room to the right of mine, where she’d been deliberately placed close so she could be monitored, contained, and prevented from causing further chaos.

I shoved the door open without knocking. “Hannah of Tennessee, we need to—”

The words died in my throat.

Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, spilling silver across the violet linens.

The bed was untouched, the coverlet smooth, and the pillows arranged with careful precision.

At the foot of the bed, a night wrap and gown lay folded, likely placed there by Thea or one of the servants.

It looked as if the bed and apparel were waiting on a woman who had never returned to claim them.

I stepped inside and scanned the room.

Her presence lingered everywhere. A book lay on the writing desk with a silk ribbon marking her place. A hairbrush rested beside it, several golden strands caught in the bristles. The air carried her scent—magnolia and apricot, warm and unmistakable—but a faint chill threaded through it now.

She hadn’t been here for hours.

My fist tightened around the door handle.

Where in the frozen realms was she at this hour?

The library. Of course.

I'd promised her access, and the stubborn creature had likely buried herself in research, losing all sense of time. She'd probably fallen asleep in a curved window seat surrounded by books.

I turned on my heel and strode back into the corridor, taking long strides to get there faster.

The castle stretched around me, empty and silent except for the faint hum of protective wards woven into the walls. My footsteps made no sound on the rugs, yet unease prickled along the back of my neck and slid down my spine like icy meltwater.

Something felt wrong. The cold tendrils of my magic spiraled throughout my body, and dread weighed heavily on my shoulders.

I found the library doors ajar. My pace quickened, and I rushed through them without hesitation.

Just like her room, moonlight flooded the vast chamber, casting long silver rectangles across the stone floor and illuminating the towering shelves in ghostly light. The painted constellations on the vaulted ceiling seemed to press downward, and the space felt too still… too hollow.

Hannah’s scent struck me first.

It cut through the scent of old books and aged wood, unmistakable even as it faded. She hadn’t been here for at least a couple of hours. Guards and castle servants had, the traces of their cologne, leather, perfume, and smoke faintly present.

I inhaled again and noted another scent lingering. Something bitter and familiar.

Blackthorn brandy.

“Hannah?” My voice echoed toward the vaulted ceiling.

Only silence answered.

The window seat across from the entrance drew my attention. A book rested there, its gilded edges catching the low torchlight. I strode toward it and glanced down at the open pages. It was a book about portals and the magic associated with them, detailing their creation and limits.

The cushions were disturbed and angled toward the window as though someone had pushed them away in a hurry, and the fabric was cold to my touch.

A few dark drops marred the small table beside the seat and dotted the floor.

I leaned closer, and the scent of alcohol intensified—aged blackthorn brandy.

Sticky residue clung to the polished wood, glinting in the light.

But there were no glasses.

No bottle.

The unease that had been gnawing at me solidified into something frigid, and my chest constricted.

Hannah wouldn’t have abandoned a book mid-page. Not this one. If my read of her was correct, she would have taken it with her. And blackthorn brandy wasn’t kept in the library.

Someone had brought it.

I straightened, forcing my thoughts into order. The lorn leaf sharpened my mind, slicing through the rising edge of panic before it could take hold.

I closed my eyes and drew in another breath, sorting the layered scents. There was old paper, leather bindings, and polished stone. Her fragrance threaded through it all, and I followed it into the hall. Her scent had been so faint that I had missed it earlier.

A sick sensation twisted in my stomach.

Her trail led down the corridor toward the staircase at the far end of the hall, but there were no voices, no movements, and no sign of anyone.

My pulse quickened.

If she’d been returning to her room, she would have taken the main stairwell. This path led east, to where the Night Court attack days ago had broken through our wall. Until the repairs could be completed, that area was our weakest point of security.

Why would she go there?

The scent of alcohol lingered here, too, as well as traces of leather, metal, and oil. It had to be from my guards… or intruders. The distinction was too faint to be certain, and Hannah’s fading scent pulled my focus back to her.

I descended the stairs, one hand trailing the cold stone wall, my senses straining to catch every fragment of her passage. The magnolia and apricot strengthened briefly near the bottom, but then vanished.

I stepped into the outer courtyard as my mouth dried.

The open air revealed a cloudy night sky. Thick snowflakes drifted down in lazy spirals, already beginning to blanket the flagstones in fresh white.

Any footprints that might have marked her path were gone, swallowed by the storm, the surface smoothed into a pristine, treacherous expanse of white that eliminated any hint of where she might have walked or been taken.

“Fuck!” I pushed forward, hunting for a hint of her scent once again, but all I smelled was fresh snow and frost.

My chest tightened.

Where could she be?

The eastern courtyard stretched before me as the snowfall thickened. Stone planters and ceramic pots stood along the wall, empty except for brittle stems and patches of lichen. The wind picked up, sharp enough to sting my face and blur visibility beyond a few dozen paces.

If she was out here, she’d be moving slowly.

Would she understand the danger? Recognize the signs of the incoming weather? She should understand the danger, given I’d found her underneath a large mound of snow, frostbitten and on the brink of death, after she’d escaped from the Night Court. She knew the cold here was lethal.

Had she taken a coat?

My jaw clenched.

This wasn’t like her. Hannah was reckless and stubborn, but not careless.

If she’d been attempting escape, she would have planned for it.

Her escape from the dungeon had been borne of desperation, but even in it, she had identified resources and utilized them, sometimes in surprising ways.

If she had run on her own, she would have gotten what she needed and not just raced outside into the snow.

My hands curled into fists as realization settled in. The Night Court must have come back and recaptured her. There was no proof, no clear sign, but my instincts spoke with a certainty I couldn’t ignore.

I turned slowly, searching for any disturbance in the snow, any break in the smooth white surface to indicate a struggle.

Then I saw it.

A dark shape lay near the eastern side of the courtyard, nearly buried beneath drifting snow.

Despite the slick stone beneath my boots, I rushed toward it. Broken pottery littered the ground around the form, the scattered shards half-hidden beneath the growing layer of white and clumps of soil dark against the snow.

A body.

My stomach churned, and cold fear clawed into my chest despite the thorn leaf. No!

I broke into a run and dropped beside it, grabbing the shoulder and rolling the figure onto its back.

The hood fell away…and my breath stopped.